


'Til I find my hero's welcome waiting in your arms

by alexanger



Series: Hatules [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Absolute Tomfoolery, Aro/Ace Herc, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:19:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7398430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drunk Herc is devastated by the loss of his hat, but good things come to those who drink far too much Kahlua.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Til I find my hero's welcome waiting in your arms

In retrospect, it was a terrible decision to give an entire bottle of Kahlua to Hercules Mulligan.

Hercules has three levels of drunk. The first is the sweet spot, which is blessedly easy to hit and easy to stay in; it’s the point where he functions best. He gets some alcohol in him and starts planning heists, and if those heists almost never progress past the planning stage - well, that’s fine, because giggly drunk Herc is always sight to behold.

The second level is what John Laurens has dubbed “good boy” level, where Herc has had just enough alcohol to be surprisingly obedient if orders are shouted at him suddenly and with enough authority. It got its name when John asked his turtle, “who’s a good boy?” and Herc immediately bellowed, “I’m a good boy!” Herc, in an entirely unsurprising display of stubbornness, had not allowed anyone else to be dubbed a better boy than him, and he ended up threatening to fist fight a six-inch-long red eared slider over the rights to be called Ultimate Good Boy.

The last level is emotional drunk, and it’s so difficult to reach without Herc just passing out that it’s almost a treat to watch Herc sobbing over something objectively ridiculous. That being said, it’s actually a little tragic to see him now, crying about the hat he lost on campus.

“You don’t understand,” he tells Alexander.

“No,” Alex says, doing his best to focus his gaze on Herc and managing to land a comforting hand on his knee. “I don’t. Tell me your woes, Hercules.”

“Man, I just turned around and it was fuckin  _ gone.  _ Like no hat anywhere and I thought I took it off in class so I went back to the classroom and crashed a, a, fuckin, I dunno, like a  _ nerd  _ class or something -”

“You crashed my English lecture,” Lafayette deadpans from the floor, where he lays cuddling a mostly-full bottle of beer.

“Yeah dude, like I said, nerd class.” Herc manages to sound both devastated and victorious. “And then I like, moved some seats around to look on the floor, but it wasn’t there! Do you think it’s happy wherever it is?”

“Shit, yeah,” Alexander says, “probably on, like, some kinda hat farm or something, being all majestic and running through open fields -”

“Flopping,” Lafayette corrects.

“Flopping,” Alexander agrees. “No hat legs but it can roll.”

“It went the distance, dude,” John says mournfully from the armchair in the corner of their living room. His legs are propped against the back of the chair and he hangs upside down with his head nearly brushing the floor. There’s a puddle of Fireball on the carpet by his head from his last unsuccessful attempt at doing a shot, and his hair sends up the scent of cinnamon every time he moves. “Raise a glass.”

“Dude, fuck you,” Herc tells him.

“I’ve been trying for, like, years, but you  _ won’t _ fuck me, Herc, where do the lies end -”

“Gross,” Hercules says with delight.

“Man, don’t be homophobic.”

“It’s not homophobia if he hates  _ everyone’s _ genitals,” Lafayette insists.

“Fucking enlightenment,” Alexander whispers. “It’s just genitalphobic.”

“Anyway you’re fucking Alex so like, why do you need my junk anyway my guy -”

“You’re stacked and Alex is a marshmallow. Variety,” John informs him, as Alexander nods in approval. “But it’s a moot point cause, number one, you’re the direct opposite of interested, and two, you’d probably cry the whole time about your fuckin hat.”

“Oh my God, my  _ hat, _ dude,” Hercules says. His face scrunches up and fresh tears form in his eyes. “I hope it’s fuckin warm enough.”

“It’s a  _ hat, _ ” Lafayette points out. “It is the concept of warmth made into an article of clothing. It will not get cold on the - hat farm.”

“Alex, weren’t you working on a thing?” John says pointedly from the armchair, where he’s attempting to line the bottle of Fireball up with his mouth.

“Oh, shit, yeah.” Alexander manages to get to his feet and staggers into the bedroom he and John share, aware that the floor seems to be pitching beneath him. “I, okay, I found some knitting books at the library and John said it’d be good for slowing me down when I’m having an energy-energy day and I made this thing -”

As he talks, Alexander is tossing things all over the bedroom. John looks up long enough to lament, “I am gonna have to refold  _ so much laundry, _ you guys,” before he tips the Fireball bottle against his lips. He gets a decent mouthful in addition to a cinnamon face rinse.

“Anyway here’s, uh, a thing,” Alex finishes. He returns to the couch and flops across Hercules’s lap, half for dramatic effect and half because he wasn’t entirely certain how much floor was left before he was supposed to sit down.

He presents a grey bundle to Herc, who unfolds it carefully to reveal -

“This is the best fuckin hat  _ ever, _ my dude,” Hercules says breathlessly.

“It’s a grey hat,” Lafayette tells him.

“No, dude, it’s not just a grey hat. This is my girlfriend. Shit, this hat is my  _ wife.” _

“Who goes to the library anymore?” Lafayette is asking Alexander. “You can just google things.”

“They have google in France?” John asks. A split second later he blurts out, “Laf, take me to the bathroom and hold my hair.”

“Why not Alexander?” Lafayette complains.

“You are less drunk and can still stand and you’re gonna have to help me there, buddy, kind of urgent, let’s go -”

“Dude, dude,” Alexander says to Hercules. “Dude, you need to marry your hat. It would be fucking sweet. Marry your hat. I want to officiate your wedding. To your hat.”

“I’m gonna marry my hat,” Hercules agrees.

“Dude you have to  _ name _ your hat and then you can marry it -”

“Hatules Mullicap,” Hercules says reverently. Alexander nods solemnly, far too moved to laugh.

“You have to marry Hatules,” Alexander whispers.

“I have to - shit dude, how do we do this?”

“Okay, you gotta promise to be faithful and like, tell her you love her and shit -”

“Or him,” Hercules says.

“Or him.”

“Or them,” Herc adds.

“Shit, dude, maybe your hat, like, changes pronouns - your wife can be your husband and your spouse and shit all at the same time, you gotta marry that hat.” Alexander is almost vibrating with intensity.

Hercules gazes deep into the seam of the hat and whispers, “I’ll be true, Hatules.”

“Kiss her!” Alexander crows.

From the bathroom comes a chorus of “Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her!”

Hercules kisses the hat. Alex will later insist that he wasn’t crying, it is absolutely  _ not  _ moving in any way to see one of your best friends kiss a hat, but in the moment he’s completely overcome and he has to wipe away something that only kind of maybe is a tear.

“Consummate the marriage,” comes John’s voice, shaky but insistent.

_ “ Grooooss _ _,”_ Hercules yells back. Instead, he puts the hat on his head and raises his arms in a victory stance.

“Raise a glass,” Alex intones sagely.

“Raise a glass,” Hercules agrees.

It’s then that John chooses to reappear, ferociously chewing gum and followed closely by a very jaded-looking Lafayette.

“Hey, dude, nice wife hat,” John says. He pulls the hat off of Hercule’s head and pulls it over his own hair, immediately infusing it with the scent of cinnamon whisky. Herc freezes.

“Betrayal,” he whispers, his voice heavy with sorrow. “My wife, we were married like, a minute, and you cheat on me with John Laurens’s fluffy annoying head -”

“I can fix this,” Alexander sputters, determined to salvage the moment. He pulls out his phone and types furiously as he continues, “I’ll make a fucking, a call out post. Call out post for John Laurens -”

“Dude, don’t do it,” John says, hurriedly jamming Hatules back on Herc’s head. 

“I missed you,” Herc whispers to the hat, stroking her gently.

“ - the Laurens pamphlets,” Alexander finishes triumphantly.

Lafayette looks incredibly done. He plucks the bottle of Kahlua out of Herc’s grasp and commandeers the abandoned Fireball.

“Next time one of you gets to supervise. What the  _ fuck, _ you guys,” he says, long suffering and very clearly tired of the shenanigans.

In response, Hercules just smiles. His smile is huge and dazzling, and he pairs it with a deeply sincere, “thank you for coming to my wedding, Lafayette.”

“You found your hero’s welcome in your hat’s arms, dude,” John quips, and Hercules punches him.

 

Lafayette duct tapes a note to the fridge that night.

_ Hercules is not allowed a full bottle of ANYTHING ever again without express permission of the ONE GUY WHO HAS ANY SENSE. _

_ PS congrats to the happy couple. _

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are my reason to live. come chat to me at alexangery.tumblr.com


End file.
